


Bad Herr Day

by TwoRefined



Series: Chan Drabbles [6]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Branding, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Improper Use of Curling Irons, Military Homophobia, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoRefined/pseuds/TwoRefined
Summary: Yet another of my random drabbles from TF2 Chan. The requester was oddly specific for what they wanted, so. I made this.





	Bad Herr Day

Soldier made no attempt to hide his disapproval of Medic’s “alternative lifestyle choices”. If the burly psychopath went a single day without screaming something inane at Medic like, “KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE BATTLE FIELD INSTEAD OF MY ASS, FAGGOT!” or “DID THEY NOT TEACH YOU HOW TO DUCK IN THE NAZI SAUSAGE FACTORY, FRITZ?!” Medic would be forced to assume the man was gravely ill and would have him carted to the infirmary immediately.   
  
Medic tried his best not to take it personally; it didn’t take much to figure out that the man was psychotically disturbed in many different ways. But a man’s patience only lasts so long.   
  
This was the absolute last straw.   
  
Medic was already in a bad mood – his “date” (read: a Danish male prostitute that could do things with a mascara brush that would make your head spin) had cancelled on him without warning the night before, at the call of a higher bidder. Scout had been in charge of laundry that week, and had ignored Medic’s strict cleaning regiment, so now Medic’s pants seemed to fit several sizes too small, and were scratchy and irritable to his sensitive skin, to boot. The German doctor spent half the morning looking for his spectacles, only to find that he’d drifted asleep with them on, and they were now bent horrendously out of shape on his pillow.   
  
And to make it even worse, he was having a bad hair day. As he fought and fussed and cursed under his breath in front of the mirror, trying to get his hair back under control before the mission started, his door suddenly burst open.   
  
“MAGGOT, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET DONE PUTTING ON YOUR HIGH HEELS AND FISHNETS AND REPORT FOR BREAKFAST?!”   
“Vun second, bitte schön!” the man snapped back, trying to get his hair to curl exactly as he wanted.   
  
Soldier gaped, tilting up his oversized helmet to get a better look. “… MY LORD!” An incredulous cackle. “YOU’RE EVEN MORE OF A FAGGOT THAN I PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT! WELL DONE!”   
  
Medic huffed, turning to face him. “I fail to see how zhis emasculates me, Herr Soldier. Curling tongs have been used for centuries to denote status und—”   
“ONLY PRISSY LITTLE GIRLS THAT LIKE PAINTING THEIR FINGERNAILS AND HAVING TEA PARTIES WITH DOLLIES CURL THEIR HAIR! YOU WANT TO BE A REAL MAN?! GET A HAIR-CUT, HIPPIE!” He slammed the door behind him, still cackling like a mad man.   
  
If that had been all, Medic told himself, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. But Soldier went off and told the entire team about it, and for the entire day, he had to suffer thinly veiled taunts from his own team, such as, “Get behind me, Doktor! Puny BLU team vill not touch hair on your head!” and, “Uh-oh, Doc! Watch out fuh dat Pyro ovah dere – I hear heat causes split ends!”   
  
For someone as paranoid as Soldier, Medic thought he’d be more suspicious about his food and making sure it wasn’t poisoned. But when he’d shown up in front of Soldier’s room with a box of ribs in hand and a generally unconvincing friendly smile, Soldier had taken it without question.   
  
It was now half an hour later. Medic dragged Soldier’s unconscious body through the halls by the foot, eyes gleaming.   
  
 _If only it hadn’t have come to this._  
  


* * *

  
The first thing Soldier became aware of was the horrible aftertaste in his mouth. The next thing was that his limbs felt like lead weights. Next, that he was freezing. Then, that he was freezing because he was stark naked. And lastly, that his limbs felt like lead weights partially because he was strapped down to a table like a lab experiment.   
  
“What in the Sons of Liberty…” Soldier strained to look around, but he was strapped belly-down, and couldn’t see much of his surroundings without straining.   
“Ah,” a voice sounded from behind him. “You are avake.”   
“… Medic?”   
  
Suddenly, Soldier became aware that he was bottom-up in front of a very-homosexual man and had no way of defending himself against the sexual onslaught he was sure was bound to happen.   
  
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, PRIVATE?!” he bellowed seconds after this realization. “YOU WILL RELEASE ME THIS INSTANT, DO YOU HEAR ME?! I AM A MARRIED MAN WITH A WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN! HER NAME IS LADY LIBERTY AND OUR CHILDREN ARE FREEDOM AND JUSTICE!!!”   
  
Medic stopped him before he could continue on another ridiculous rant. “Ja, ja. Do not vorry, Herr Soldier. I haff no interest in sexually assaulting you—”   
“DOUBT IT.”   
“Nein, I assure you. My intentions are pure. I don’t vant much out of you – in fact, my demands are quite simple.” Medic strutted over so that he was in Soldier’s full view, and gave a predatory grin. “Vould you like to know vat it is?”   
“NEGATORY. I DO NOT NEGOTIATE WITH TERRORISTS. OR PIRATES. OR BUTT-PIRATES. LIKE YOU.”   
“I’ll tell you anyvay.”   
  
Medic strolled away, out of Soldier’s line of vision. “All I vant, Herr Soldier, is a simple apology. Das ist alles.”   
“AN  _APOLOGY?!_  WHY DON’T YOU ASK ME TO RIP MY OWN TESTICLES OFF WHILE YOU’RE AT IT?! I AM AN  _AMERICAN!!!_  AMERICANS DON’T APOLOGIZE! YOU WANT AN APOLOGY?! GO TO CANADA!  _THAT’S_  A SORRY EXCUSE FOR A COUNTRY IF I EVER SAW ONE!”   
A chuckle. “Very well, Herr Soldier. You have until the metal gets hot to change your mind.”   
  
Soldier paused. “WHAT IN SAM’S HILL DOES THAT MEAN?!”   
Medic didn’t answer him. Had he left? It was so dark – he could barely see… “GET BACK HERE AND TELL ME WHAT THAT MEANS! AND UNTIE ME, TOO!”   
  
More silence. “I SWEAR ON THE STARS AND STRIPES THAT YOU ARE DEAD WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU DAMN NAZI BASTARD! YOU HEAR ME?!?!?!”   
  
Medic watched from the far side of his laboratory, checking the temperature his electric curling iron every few seconds. Not surprisingly, Soldier spent the entire time he COULD have been making amends screaming himself hoarse. Medic gave him ten minutes to be sure, but all Soldier would talk about was not having to apologize for being a man who fought for freedom or… some nonsense.   
  
The German doctor sighed and stood, unplugging the curling iron and approaching Soldier once more. “Time is up. Haff you thought about vhat you’ve done at all?”   
“ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS HOW I SHOULD HAVE BEATEN THE FAGGOTRY OUT OF YOUR DAMNED NAZI BODY SOONER, YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR FLESH.”   
“Very vell. I haff made zee best attempt at reaching you as I could.”   
“YOU CANNOT REACH—”   
  
The rest of Soldier’s enthusiastic response would never be known. Medic cut the man off by shoving the burning-hot iron up Soldier’s ass to the very hilt without so much as a warning.   
  
There was a caustic hissing noise as the walls of Soldier’s rectum bubbled and blistered, finally shriveling up until nothing was left but a black scab cocooning the metal.   
  
Soldier shrieked and thrashed about in his restraints, but Medic grunted and continued pressing it deeper into him. “You VILL apologize, Soldier!” he snapped, holding the man as still as he could. “I vill NOT be made a fool of!”   
“OKAY!!!” Soldier screamed. “OKAY, OKAY, OKAY!!! I’M SORRY, MEDIC! I SWEAR I WILL NEVER SAY ANYTHING INSULTING TO YOU EVER AGAIN!!!”   
  
Medic grinned and yanked the burning hot metal out of Soldier, taking with it chunks of flesh and blood. Soldier howled again, but was quickly relieved from his pain by the soothing feel of the Medigun. It filled all the holes the chunks of flesh had left and repaired his rectum in full, all without a scratch to be seen.   
  
Soldier wasn’t in any physical pain anymore, but he was shaking and whimpering, even as Medic undid his restraints. He’d broken out into a cold sweat, and his teeth were chattering. His cheeks were streaked with tears.   
Medic just smiled, helped him stand up (he’d still be sore for a few days), returned his clothes, and draped a fluffy RED blanket around the man’s shoulders.   
  
“I hope ve vill not be forced to haff zhis 'chat' again, Herr Soldier.”   
“N-N-No, D-Doc…”   
“Gut. Show yourself out.”   
  
The German doctor never brought it up again, but it was days before anyone could convince Soldier to come out of bed, and weeks more before he would even say Medic’s name.   
  
When anyone asked Medic about what was going on, he’d just smile and say, “Da hat er mit dem Feuer gespielt.”


End file.
